


Whispers in the Dark

by Meelah



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Adamant Fortress, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:25:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8387107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meelah/pseuds/Meelah
Summary: Cullen meets Warden Alistair at Adamant. They drink and talk (but not about their past). They fuck.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _You hold your truth so purely_   
>  _Well swerve not through the minds of men_   
>  _This lie is dead_   
>  _And this cup of yours tastes holy_   
>  _But a brush with the Devil can clear your mind_   
>  _And strengthen your spine_   
>  _But fingers tap into what you were once_   
>  _And I'm worried that I blew my only chance_
> 
> _Whispers in the dark_  
>  _Steal a kiss and you'll break your heart_  
>  _Pick up your clothes and curl your toes_  
>  _Learn your lesson, lead me home_  
>  —Mumford & Sons, "Whispers in the Dark"  
>    
> Canon divergence: imagine Cullen and Alistair training as Templars together before Alistair is recruited by Duncan. For story reasons, also imagine that Alistair was not with the Warden at Kinloch Hold.
> 
> This started as a porn without plot story but I couldn't put that in the tags with good conscience once I was done.

"Cullen!"

Cullen recognises the voice immediately and blinks. He had hoped the "Warden Alistair" in the Inquisitor's report would have somehow been someone other than Alistair Theirin, but seems that he had been overly optimistic in that regard. 

Cullen turns. 

"Alistair," he says, aware that he's not smiling but unable to change it.

"Cullen," Alistair says again, and grabs him by the shoulders.

For a second Cullen thinks the man is going to kiss him, but Alistair just shakes him, smiling. "I couldn't believe it when Hawke told me it was you. 'Cullen Rutherford? From Honnleath?' I asked, there can't be many people with that name. Or could be, I guess, but what are the chances?"

Cullen looks for resentment on Alistair's face, or anger, or disappointment—any of those feelings that had been present the last time they had seen each other—but finds none. Even though lines on Alistair's face are deeper, the smile is the same, and Cullen tries to swallow back whatever is stuck in his throat. He opens his mouth looking for something to say, and it's that hesitation that makes Alistair let go.

"I'm sorry," the man says as the smile slowly dies on his face.

They stare at each other for a second before Cullen forces himself to speak, straightening the fabric of his coat.

"It's—it's fine, I was just surprised," he says. "I mean, I knew you were here at Adamant, and it has been so long… I just have been so busy—"

“I understand,” Alistair says, and his mouth that had drawn into a tight line relaxes a little. “You being the Inquisition Commander and all! Now there's a story I'd like to hear.”

oOo

When he thinks about it afterwards, it's unclear to Cullen how exactly he had come to agree to meet with Alistair later. Maybe it was Sister Nightingale's stare that was drilling holes into his back, and Cullen wanted nothing better than to get back to his tent, or because it _had_ been too long, and wasn't catching up something that friends do after years apart?

But maybe, just maybe, it had been how Alistair's face had lit up with hope when Cullen had hastily suggested meeting up for a drink after the evening rounds, that makes him actually do it. 

oOo

Later, around the Warden campfire. 

Cullen watches him with the other Wardens, sees how Alistair's peaceful demeanour calms down the skittish mage, how a friendly word to the exhausted dwarf makes her come out of her torpor. He's been their leader for mere days but Cullen sees how they trust him already, patiently waiting to exchange a word and leaving satisfied afterwards with their problems solved.

When there's no one else around Alistair's shoulders slump and he brings his hand to his face, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The fact that he hadn't let any of that show earlier is a testament to his strength and his readiness to lead the Wardens and Cullen doesn't want to take that away from him by letting him know that his moment of weakness has been seen. He almost turns away when Alistair lifts his head and looks straight at Cullen standing in the shadows.

He smiles.

oOo

First words are uncertain, first stories forced.

Alistair: trained by Duncan, fighting the Blight with the Warden. Denerim. Giving up the crown. Stories Cullen has heard, but never from someone who had been there. The Thaw in the years following, gruelling fight against the retreating darkspawn. Finding and training recruits. Hard life without a home, Cullen knows, even though Alistair never says it. 

Cullen's turn: becoming a templar, being bound to lyrium. Kinloch Hold. Kirkwall. Both he mentions briefly concentrating on the work and never the people, and whatever Alistair has heard from the Wardens he keeps to himself. Cullen is thankful for it, for they are not memories he wishes to dwell on. Lastly he tells the story about being recruited by Cassandra and meeting the Inquisitor. 

Neither of them talks about their shared past, and what is there to say that wasn't shouted at the top of their lungs the last time they met?

oOo

Even later, Cullen's tent.

They make themselves comfortable.

Cullen gets out his best bottle with two tin mugs. Alistair fiddles with the leather straps of his chest plate and accepts the drink when offered. The silence sits between them for a long moment.

"It's not an Archdemon. The dragon I mean," Alistair says finally, rolling the mug between his palms. "I told the Inquisitor, of course."

Cullen watches him, and the lines of Alistair's face look deeper in the flickering light of the oil lamp.

"You can… sense it?" Cullen asks slowly.

"The taint," Alistair says and taps his temple. "Calls to me. And I don't mean _the_ Calling, at least not yet. But I've felt what a real Archdemon feels like, and this isn't it. This one doesn't speak to me. Does it make sense?"

Cullen thinks about what it feels like to fight against the red lyrium monsters, how the lyrium growing inside them sings to him, and he nods.

"It makes sense," he says.

Alistair opens his mouth as if to say something but then closes it. 

He’s not how Cullen remembers him, and of course he isn’t, it has been too many years and they have fought too many battles. It strikes Cullen as almost funny how until now he had always thought of Alistair as a boy, even though Alistair is a year older. Now he understands that it had more to do with how Cullen saw himself at that time—he had been so full of fervour and devotion, and Alistair’s struggle with his had seemed immature to Cullen.

It's obvious now the devotion was always there, and the person before him is no boy. 

oOo

Wine loosens the tongue, someone had recently told Cullen, so to speak. They drink to Hawke, and recollect their fondest memories. 

oOo

Alistair seems to relax, the drink making his cheeks glow in the dim light. He's still fiddling with the straps of his chest plate, now clearly in discomfort.

"That genlock got me better than I thought," he grunts, shifting on his chair. 

Cullen is also still in full armour, but he regardless kneels down between Alistair's legs.

"Let me help?" he asks quietly, reaching for the strap holding the griffon plate in place.

Alistair watches him with lips parting slightly, and for a moment he seems to forget that Cullen is waiting for an answer. Then he quickly nods, his fingers nervously twitching. Cullen's hands feel clumsy as he struggles with the strap until Alistair helps him by showing how to take the plate off. Their fingers brush but Cullen doesn't look up until Alistair wraps his hands around Cullen's fingers.

"Your fingers are so cold," he says, his voice surprisingly soft. Cullen starts to pull his hands away but Alistair holds on for a moment longer. "Sorry," he adds quickly, and lets Cullen slide his hands away.

Cullen lets his gaze fall down. "We should check your injury," he murmurs. 

Cullen’s intention had been to help Alistair check his injury but his thoughts have been completely sidetracked by the unexpected touch. He pauses taking a breath in and doesn’t look up. 

The blue and silver tunic Alistair is wearing is easier to open, even with Cullen’s numb fingers, and Alistair doesn’t try to help him again. His ribs are bruised black and blue but the skin hasn't broken, and Cullen runs his fingers along them.

"I think I'll live," Alistair says, and suddenly his voice sounds thick. 

Cullen's hand has stopped moving but he hasn't pulled back. For a second they stay like this, and then Alistair’s hand moves to cover Cullen’s. Nudge down is so subtle it could be just a twitch of Alistair’s fingers, but Cullen reads it as a proposal. 

This is strangely familiar, hearing Alistair’s breathing change as Cullen's hands move to tackle the laces on his breeches and for a moment it’s almost like it was back then, quick stolen moments together where and when they could. But what's new is Alistair reaching to touch Cullen’s hair.

“No hurry,” Alistair whispers, and Cullen can hear him swallow. “It’s not like—“ he stumbles over his words as Cullen finds his cock, starts to stroke it. 

Cullen watches Alistair's face again, watches his eyelids flutter even when he tries to keep them open. How he used to secretly love that look and how easy it was to achieve, just by—

“Cullen—“ Alistair rasps, burying his fingers into Cullen’s blond hair as Cullen starts to suck his cock. “M-maker's breath…”

Cullen had forgotten how much he loves this, lips stretched around Alistair’s cock, the weight and shape of it heavy on his tongue. Alistair’s groan urges him on so he goes deeper, pushing the breeches out of the way as far as he can. In the back of his head he hopes his fingers are not too cold as he wraps them around Alistair’s shaft but no, he doesn’t seem to care, the way his thighs flex against Cullen's shoulders. Stroking and sucking he finds the rhythm to get Alistair moaning, low under his breath and then louder, more hoarse.

The taste of him, when he comes, is new, with a touch of bitterness to it. 

Alistair’s eyes are finally closed, but his breath still unsteady. Cullen himself is out of breath too, his own cock achingly hard in the confines of his breeches. He lets Alistair’s cock fall out from between his lips, makes a satisfied sound, clearing his throat, enjoying the ghost feeling of it in his mouth. 

“I tried to tell you we were not in a hurry,” Alistair mutters, eyes still closed but hand looking for Cullen's shoulder, making sure he stays close. He pauses. “I’m not—I’m not unsatisfied. Thank you.”

Cullen is quiet even though his heart is still hammering. He rests his head against Alistair’s thigh for a moment, chin buried in the coarse hair. Lets Alistair catch his breath, but the man is soon restless again.

“Your turn,” he says, tugging on Cullen’s hair. “How do you like it?”

Questions are new, too. It used to be more about need than want, back pressed against the cold stone, bruises on knees, only wordless grunts as instructions. Cullen wonders who had taught Alistair to ask, to take his time. For him there hadn’t been time for intimacy, at least that’s the excuse Cullen has used to decline the occasional offer.

“Cullen?” Alistair asks again, quietly, waking Cullen from his musings. “Please. I’d like to.”

Roles reversed, then.

Cullen’s armour removed, as well as rest of Alistair’s. Cullen feels vulnerable without it, as he’s stripping away more than just metal—or maybe it’s Alistair’s gaze on his half exposed body that is causing him to shiver. Cullen sits on his cot and Alistair gets down between his knees, looking up, waiting for a permission. Cullen clears his throat again and nods curtly.

Alistair’s hands are warm and his mouth even more so. At first careful, almost gentle, and Cullen can’t help the needy sounds that escape his lips because it has been far too long, unbearably so. Cullen's fingers curl into fists that he presses onto the thin mattress and he's almost embarrassed how quickly his hips start to shake. To Cullen's surprise Alistair eases off his cock, then, licking his reddened lips.

"You don't have to hold back," he says, voice a little gravelly but his expression is thoughtful and honest. "If you want—you know, like you used to—"

Cullen blinks and hesitantly uncurls his fingers. Alistair lifts his chin a little as he swallows, and in this dim light his eyes look almost black. Here’s another thing that is different, Cullen thinks: Alistair's hair is longer than it used to be, so long he can bury his fingers into it. Cullen tests his grip, and the man on his knees breathes out softly, closing his eyes. Opens his mouth for Cullen.

 _Like you used to._

Involuntary, rough grunts spill from Cullen's lips as he starts to fuck Alistair's mouth. At first he tries to control himself, but soon enough the quiet choking sounds Alistair makes and the wet heat of his mouth are just too much. Last few thrust are deep but Alistair's surrender is complete, even as Cullen holds his head tightly in place as he comes. The sight of Alistair's lips stretched around Cullen’s cock makes him whimper, and Alistair stays still with eyes squeezed close, bare shoulders shuddering as he's fighting the urge to pull away.

"I—" Cullen starts as he lets go but his thoughts are scattered, and even if he did have something to say it has escaped now.

Alistair's eyes blink open and he looks up at Cullen. 

_Smiles_.

Cullen's cot is a little bit too small for two grown men, but they make it work. Cullen brings the bottle back and hands Alistair his mug. It is received, though this time Alistair's lips have barely touched the liquid inside before he puts it away. Cullen needs more than that though before he can straighten his legs so that they press against Alistair's who's sitting on the other end of the bed. Alistair looks relaxed again, hair a little messy, and he leans in to touch Cullen's leg, brushing it with his fingers.

"It's been awhile," Cullen says because right then the silence between them is too much to bear.

Alistair just nods.

oOo

They talk more. 

Alistair talks about the Warden, his voice soft and affectionate. Cullen listens and for a moment he thinks: _he found someone_ , before Alistair talks about the Warden with Leliana, and there's no sign of regret in his voice. 

oOo

Later, drinks aside.

The kiss, after all these years, is their first. 

Imagine learning to kiss, to touch, this late in life. Cullen feels embarrassed, fumbling to please Alistair, but Alistair seems to have an endless amount of patience showing him what to do. Easier than to learn is to get lost in it, to close his eyes and let Alistair take control. 

"Can I—" Alistair hesitates suddenly, looks up at Cullen. Whispers: "I want to make love to you." 

The words hit Cullen, and the quick breath he pulls in mirrors the emotion. He's glad of the dim light now because his cheeks feel burning hot. Alistair's hand on his cock stills and he presses his forehead against Cullen’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry…” Alistair breathes. “It’s too much? This feels good too.”

His hand on Cullen's cock moves again, slower this time, with a looser grip. But Cullen’s heart is hammering like it’s going to burst out of his chest, and he’s more aware than before how Alistair’s cock feels like, hard against his thigh. Alistair’s suggestion is not something Cullen has ever considered but now he can’t stop thinking about it as Alistair’s hand moves slow and careful until Cullen is back up to full hardness.

“How do you like it?” Alistair asks again, his mouth against Cullen’s jawline. “Tell me. I want to make you feel good again…”

“I’ve never—“ Cullen swallows, breathes out. He’s a soldier and has heard his share of crass stories around the campfire, so why is this so hard now? “I’ve never tried it. Being fucked.” 

There. He’s said it. His cheeks feel hot again.

Alistair pauses and Cullen wishes he could take his words back, biting his cheek.

“It’s okay,” Alistair says softly. “Only if you want to.” 

Waits for Cullen to speak.

Has to wait for a while.

This time Cullen turns his head to kiss Alistair, his lips seeking contact, first scratching against the short stubble of his chin. Then, lips are found and Cullen traces them with his tongue before pushing between them, feeling Alistair’s breath shudder. Wordless shuffle ensues, with mouths and hands, Cullen pushes and so does Alistair. Whether it’s a real struggle for control, Cullen isn’t sure, but he ends up yielding with Alistair on top of him, between his spread legs, their cocks pressed against each other.

This way around Alistair’s face is lit by the oil lamp, and he looks down on Cullen with an expression that’s half lust and half concern and Cullen’s stomach turns. Still Alistair doesn’t speak, holds up on his elbows, slowly rolling his hips against Cullen’s. Next kiss is slow and it’s the slowness and gentleness, and the implications that make Cullen shiver more than the thought of letting Alistair inside him.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “Alright. Do it.”

Again Alistair stills and Cullen almost swears aloud, every muscle tightening. 

“I will make you feel good—” Alistair whispers then, and tries to kiss Cullen but this time Cullen denies him so that Alistair’s lips meet his jaw instead. 

Gentle strokes on Cullen’s inner thigh until he stops nervously twitching. 

“Relax,“ Alistair murmurs and this time Cullen lets his friend kiss him.

The kiss, unhurried and careful, distracts Cullen for a few seconds before he feels Alistair’s fingers on his lower lip. Cullen licks the fingers and Alistair's own lips part with his increasingly quickening breath as he watches.

“Maker, Cullen,” Alistair breathes out, doesn’t even try to hide his adoration. "You have no idea…" 

For few seconds Cullen is taken back to when they were boys, fighting in the courtyard with practice swords. Alistair, standing there with his sword on the ground and wearing that same expression—out of breath and sweaty, yielding and not minding it one bit. And Cullen's own anger towards the lack of Alistair’s, his desire to wipe the smile off the other boy’s face to stop him from being so damn accepting of his failure and his admiration towards Cullen for beating him.

In the present Cullen closes his eyes so he doesn't have to watch Alistair, uses his teeth to scrape the fingers in his mouth. Not hard but as a warning, a sign for Alistair to back off. This time Alistair doesn't give in but pushes back, pressing his fingers down on Cullen's tongue just for a second too long, almost making him gag. The look on Alistair's face is new now too, with a certain hardness but also excitement of a different kind. He looks defiant and every bit the commander Cullen knows him to be, and Cullen's retort dies on his lips. 

Slick fingers against Cullen's ass make him tense, but Alistair distracts him by kissing him again. This kiss, like Alistair's new expression, doesn't give Cullen a choice. He is kissed, deep and thorough, his mouth invaded by Alistair's tongue, his lips bitten until swollen and tender. When Cullen tries to draw breath, the fingers push in. 

Oh. 

He expected it to hurt, expected it to be a thing to tolerate for the sake of someone else's desire. 

_Oh._

The stretch and the burn make Cullen’s cock throb harder, make him _want_. Alistair kisses him again and Cullen gives in with almost a silent sigh, opening his mouth and gives into it this time, gives Alistair the control.

He lets Alistair arrange him, legs spread and one knee lifted up to his side. Cullen’s cheeks are burning again from the embarrassment, but then, _then_ nothing else matters as Alistair's cock presses in. Cullen's throat closes as he forces himself silent so the only sound he can hear is Alistair's groan and his gasp when he draws a fast breath.

Alistair's head bows with unguarded pleasure. 

Both are still for a second, two. Three.

Then Alistair breathes out a shaky breath, rolls his hips, driving his cock deeper.

Cullen's lips open, still silent, until the next thrust when a whimper escapes.

Alistair's head lowers so that their foreheads are pressed together, as if to hear Cullen better. 

After a few more thrusts hearing him is not a problem. Cullen moans loudly, even drowning out the sounds Alistair is making. 

Such intense, unexpected pleasure. Seeing it reflected back from Alistair’s face too takes Cullen's breath away, makes him shake deep into his bones, heats them up with searing hotness he hasn't felt since the last time he injected himself with lyrium. 

Looking at Alistair, Cullen can see the boy he loved, as a friend. As a lover. The man he hated for abandoning the Order he loved. The emotions together with the unbearable heat coil together into a mind blowing orgasm that blanks everything out. 

oOo

Kisses again. 

This time: slow and tender. 

This time: tenderness given as well as received.

Later, Cullen wakes up in the darkness. 

Alistair sleeps next to him, breathing peacefully. Cullen doesn't move, but watches how the sliver of the sky from the crack of the tent door slowly changes colour. 

oOo

Next time Cullen wakes up, he can hear the camp stirring, slow murmur of voices and clink of armour being pulled on as the troops prepare for another day. Alistair is no longer next to him and Cullen pulls up to sitting in a jolt, to find Alistair on the other side of the tent looking at him startled. 

“I'm sorry,” the warden says, picking up his tunic from the ground where it had been dropped the previous night. “I… I wasn't just going to just _leave_. I just didn't want to wake you up yet.”

Cullen lies down again, cringing a little. Cleaning up hadn't occurred to either of them the previous night and he's _crusty_ in places he didn't realise could be crusty. 

“Ah,” Alistair says and he sounds embarrassed. “I'm… sorry about that too. I was going to get some water.”

He's already pulled up his pants and now pulls his tunic over his head. Cullen has time to see bare skin marred with scars before the tunic covers it, and he's reminded again how long they have been apart.

He's about to say that when they're interrupted by Cullen's page who comes in without knocking, carrying a bucket of water in one hand and linen towels in another. The boy stops in mid-step so violently it makes the water slosh out of the bucket while Cullen scrambles to get up as quickly as he can.

"Iain," he says, gathering his composure, which is hard when he's still trying to locate his trousers. "Ah, you can just leave those there."

Iain stares at Alistair, who says nothing and Cullen is sort of impressed that he doesn't start babbling in vain with that nervous habit of his. Instead Alistair's eyes track Cullen, waiting for a cue from him.

"Iain!" Cullen says firmly, and the boy snaps out of it.

Iain manages not to drop the bucket as he pours the warm water, steaming in the cool morning air, into a wash basin at the corner of Cullen's tent. He places the linen towels carefully next to the basin, straightening the corners with his fingers before nodding a little. His eyes are towards the ground, but he can't quite help himself catching another peek of Alistair.

Cullen sighs. "Iain," he says again. "It's fine. I'm fine. You can go."

The boy nods again, and runs out, then a second later peeking back in. 

"Ser, the tent door…" 

"Leave it closed, I'll open it," Cullen says, with more patience than he feels.

"Ser," Iain says again before running off, this time for good.

Cullen sits back down on the cot and rubs his face with his hands. Iain is smart enough not to risk the wrath of his commander, but young and stupid enough that he won't be able to hide Cullen's affairs either, not completely. Cullen scoffs to himself. Secret affair, like a young girl hiding a lover's letter under her pillow, like a young man trying not to let his parents know when he's sneaking out— 

He's so wrapped up with his self-flagellating thoughts that he's surprised when Alistair sits next to him on the cot.

"Is that a problem?" Alistair asks quietly. "Would you prefer them to think us old friends?"

Cullen shakes his head and sighs. 

"It's fine, I guess," he says. "I'm just used to having them not think of me as…" Cullen pauses. 

"A human?" Alistair guesses. He guesses other things too, looking at his expression.

"I don't see how my affairs are any of their business," Cullen says, a little stubborn. "At the end of the day they need to follow my orders, and when they look at me I prefer for them to think of me as their commander. I don't want it to get muddled with— with—" he's searching for words for a second and he waves his hand. "With thinking which one of us takes it up the ass!"

Alistair looks stunned at his frankness at first, but then he laughs.

"I assure you," he says and suppresses the following grin. "No one is that interested. Few dirty jokes here and there and then they're probably happy that you're a little less uptight at practice the next day." And then, at the sight of Cullen's frown, he adds quickly: "Sorry. I will tell my men that I got so drunk I spent the night on the floor of your tent rather than crawl to my own, if that's your wish."

He looks sincere, and Cullen doesn't doubt his words. But Alistair is Alistair, and he can't quite hide his disappointment. He looks away rather than face Cullen, but his hand has found its way to Cullen's knee, and he squeezes it a little. For a second Cullen is tempted to take the offer and be done with it, but his chest feels tight when he thinks of the moments they shared the night before.

"Last night," he says slowly and then quickly, before he changes his mind: "It wasn't like it used to be, not just about sex.”

Alistair smiles, but there's a sad tilt to it.

“It was never about just sex for me,” he says. “I admired you, I loved you like a man loves another man. Leaving you broke my heart, but it was the right thing to do. Right thing for _me_.”

Cullen nods a little. “I know that. Now.” 

He thinks about the ache of lyrium in his bones, and he's glad Alistair had chosen a different way.

“Maybe it's not so bad…” Alistair says and the hand on Cullen's knee feels suddenly hot. “If we enjoy each other's company during the time we have.”

So they do.

oOo

The effort to clear Adamant is a joint effort between the Inquisition and Grey Wardens, though most of the time Cullen feels like they're as much use as an eager child wearing his father’s armour and pretending his rocking horse is a real steed. 

Lingering darkspawn gather up for one more final front, and Cullen is impressed how Alistair and his Wardens handle it. Deadly silent in their concentration, they hone in on the enemy and strike with precision that Cullen has never seen before, even during his Templar days. 

In the evening Alistair is full of nervous energy, rubbing his temples and pacing, until Cullen pulls him down on the cot. Nervous energy is put to better use.

In the morning Cullen kisses Alistair in front of his tent, and doesn't care that people stare.

oOo

Days, and especially nights, they run out too fast.

Cullen hears the Wardens talk more and more about Weisshaupt, until it's all too clear that Alistair is stalling their move out. Messages from the headquarters are arriving almost daily now and Alistair spends hours just on correspondence. And isn't it the truth that maybe Cullen, too, has been finding more things for the Inquisition to do at Adamant than are strictly necessary?

“You need to go, don't you?” Cullen asks that night. 

He’s picked a moment when Alistair has his back to Cullen, pulling off his tunic. Cullen can't see his face, but he can see how Alistair’s shoulders slump a little. 

Alistair breathes out. "Yes." Almost inaudible.

"Me too," Cullen says. "The Inquisitor needs me at Skyhold, we need to head out in a day or two."

A week ago the silence that follows would have been embarrassing, maybe even oppressive. But now, now silence feels like mutual understanding and acceptance. They need to go their separate ways, and they need to stop pretending otherwise.

"One more night," Alastair says, and turns around to face Cullen. 

Cullen’s heart is beating fast, but this time he won't waste his chance by pretending he's something he's not, that he doesn't want this, when he's never wanted anything more in his life. 

First time is hard and needy, to wash away the tension of the day.

Cullen sinks his hard cock into Alistair, his whole body trembling with the need to be one with him. He covers Alistair's gasping mouth with kisses, spreading his thighs wide to get even deeper, and each thrust makes them moan in unison. 

Second time they laugh together. At how good their bodies feels pressed against each other, how good it feels to look at someone's face and know they feel the same. Alistair worships Cullen openly, and finally Cullen doesn't care but accepts the love as it is given and treasures it. 

Third time, they're saying goodbye. 

It's almost dawn and lack of sleep and stamina makes them slow and careful. Every inch of skin is now familiar, every move intended to record and commit to memory—the feel and the look and the smell of it. Kisses linger as other things are forgotten, and at times Cullen even forgets to breathe, such is his need for Alistair.

The climax makes Cullen cry and he isn't ashamed to show his grief. 

In the morning Alistair is gone and Cullen silently thanks him for it.

oOo

Their goodbyes are public, then.

Grey Wardens are silent on their horses waiting, as Alistair pulls Cullen into an uncomfortable armoured hug. Cullen smells his sweat, their sex, mixed with the smell of worn leather and metal.

"Don't die," he whispers as Alistair pulls away, and Alistair gives him the quickest of nods.

As he watches Alistair get on his horse and give the marching orders the only thing he can cling to are Alistair's last words.

_"Don't forget me."_

oOo

Despite the end of the world looming behind their backs, Alistair writes to him.

Cullen has barely time to sleep but he reads those letters again and again, hangs on to every word, running his finger over the ink. He sits in his office way past midnight, uses the all too precious moments he could use to rest to write letters of his own.

_Dear Alistair,_  
_The battle against Corypheus continues, though it is becoming abundantly clear that…_

He stops, presses the heels of his hands against his eyes until he sees stars. If this is the last letter he ever writes, are those the words he wants to leave for Alistair? He picks up the quill again and dips it in the ink.

_Beloved,_  
_Not a day or night goes by that I don't think of you…_

Words will never be enough, but these will do. For now.

oOo

It's hard to comprehend that it really is over.

Solas has disappeared but everyone else is alive, and Cullen walks the halls of Skyhold in a daze for a week. If he had hoped the win would lessen his workload he's mistaken—it shifts for sure, but dealing with requests from nobles and diplomats takes, if possible, even more time when the cause is political instead of military. In addition there are troops still deployed all over his map, now to be re-organised, and decisions to be made about who needs to be kept on the payroll and who sent home, and all those decisions fall squarely on Cullen's shoulders. The Inquisitor and Josephine are wrapped up with preparations for a victory celebration, while Leliana has been called to Val Royeaux in preparation for becoming the next Divine. 

The letter from Weisshaupt arrives on the morning of the celebration, but Cullen doesn't have time to read it until the evening when he's getting ready for the party. He breaks the seal and unfolds the thick paper with trembling fingers. The message is short, written in Alistair's rough script.

_Cullen,_  
_Maybe prayer does work and the Maker has heard my pleas, because you're alive. About those hopes and dreams we had in case we both survived? Nothing would make me happier than to make them true._  
_A._

After the party Cullen packs his saddle bags and changes into his riding leathers. He writes a letter to the Inquisitor, and one for Cassandra, and leaves them for his page to find. He watches Skyhold for a long time from the battlement and listens to the noise coming from the main hall, and feels unbearably light.

He rides into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> To me, fandom makes Cullen better.
> 
> Especially for this story, my biggest influences have been [Stuck on the Puzzle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5269628) by thespectaclesofthor with her incredible description of lyrium addiction that I merely ghost here, and [Exit Light](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3489692) by Dragonflies_and_Katydids where Cullen is more stubborn than is good for him.
> 
> I'm [birdscameflying](http://birdscameflying.tumblr.com) on tumblr. You can reblog this story [here](http://birdscameflying.tumblr.com/post/152339420996/whispers-in-the-dark).


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